


What Would Patti LuPone Do?

by FakePlasticSnow



Category: Glee
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Post-Episode S1E08 ("Wheels")
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-09
Updated: 2009-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:27:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24095065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakePlasticSnow/pseuds/FakePlasticSnow
Summary: "Are you two an item? Is this like High School Musical, where the athlete gets together with the innocent looking one with a squeaky high voice, who secretly has a wild side and has naked pictures of herself all over the internet? Kurt, do you have naked pictures of yourself all over the internet? Can I see them? Will Quinn's baby have three fathers? Kurt, does this mean you're gay now?"Liz Phair used to be so awesome. Also: Spanish lessons, fantasy sequences, fun with anagrams, stupid boy feelings, glances across a cafeteria, and an "Incubus," whatever the hell that is.
Relationships: Kurt Hummel/Noah Puckerman
Comments: 22
Kudos: 124





	What Would Patti LuPone Do?

**Author's Note:**

> Originally [posted to my LiveJournal](https://fakeplasticsnow.livejournal.com/25274.html) in -- oh gosh -- December 2009.
> 
> I'm still in the process of porting over my old fic to AO3. Suffice to say, that process is taking me a while.

"So this never happened, right?" is not something Kurt would ever want to say while zipping up his pants.  
  
Puck is not someone Kurt would ever want to say this to.  
  
But here they are and it feels like some nightmarish Katy Perry single, "I Kissed (Handjobbed...?) a Lima Loser" or whatever, and Kurt desperately wants the linoleum floor to swallow him up, like, right now. If Mr. Schuester finds out what they'd done on his desk exactly two minutes ago, Kurt would never live to see another day and produce and direct the _Walk the Line_ Broadway musical adaptation he'd been planning out in his head for forever. That would be sad, for the whole wide world. And for Kurt, because he would look _so_ fierce carrying four Tony awards and beaming for the cameras and good-naturedly sparring with Triumph the Insult Comic Dog.  
  
"...Yeah," Puck says weakly. "Never happened. Um." He picks up his bag and walks out of the rehearsal room.  
  
Kurt drags himself over to the wall. He slides down right next to a tuba, studying himself in its brassy reflection. "Oh, God."  
  
This was his first kiss (plus a few unexpected bonuses), and this was not how it was supposed to go. Kurt knows how it's supposed to go, he has elaborate, well-lit scenarios in his head of how everything in his _life_ is supposed to go, and his first kiss was supposed to happen in a five-star hotel, with Finn, after a night of dinner and watching that Green Day musical with him (Kurt's considerate, he'd pick a musical that would appeal to both their tastes -- _Shrek the Musical_ is totally out of the question, though). Finn would be tentative, and gentle, and he'd cup Kurt's face in his hands, and he would taste like Moet et Chandon. He'd be a gentleman, and then they could save the toe-curling, acrobatic, rock-my-world sex for the third date.  
  
Puck? Exchanging handjobs on the teacher's desk with Noah freaking Puckerman? Hell no.  
  
"Hell no," Kurt whines to the sympathetic tuba.  
  
Should he be grilled by a judge and jury, Kurt would claim temporarily diminished capacity. He was insecure and Puck was there, so. Yeah, he'd thrown that high F in "Defying Gravity," but he doesn't want everyone to think he _couldn't_ hit it. It's a high F, it's not that hard. So this is how Kurt's personal nightmare began, a little over half an hour ago: after glee practice, he sat at the piano and played the last few bars, freaking nailed that high F.  
  
"Sweet," a voice said from behind him.  
  
Kurt nearly fell off the piano bench. "Oh. Um, thanks, Puck."  
  
"No, really." Puck slid next to him on the bench. He ran his long, sturdy fingers along the keys and said, "It's glee club, not Rachel and a Bunch of Back-Up Singers club. And you were, uh, kind of awesome yesterday. I voted for you."  
  
And that's where things went horribly wrong. Kurt needed validation, and Puck of all people made him smile, and for a minute there Kurt felt all shiny and pretty and leading-man-ish like Zac Efron. In the middle of that Zac Efron high, he made out with Puck. Because Puck voted for him.  
  
He should've stopped, but he didn't. Puck didn't, either. Puck definitely didn't kiss like Imaginary Finn would. He didn't hold back at all; he kissed in a way that made you want to do _more_ , tons more.  
  
That's what they did.  
  
That's how Kurt ended up flat on his back on Mr. Schue's desk, Marc Jacobs sweater pushed up over his chest, fifteen minutes ago.  
  
"Nothing happened," Kurt repeats. His words resonate against the crappy acoustics of the rehearsal room. He takes a deep breath and stands up, though it takes a while before his hands stop trembling long enough for him to be able to turn the doorknob and sneak out.  
  
  
  
  
8:27.  
  
Kurt glances at his watch for the fiftieth time in the last half-hour. There's something unspeakably sad about the fact that he's actually _waiting_ by the dumpster this morning so the football team can get it over with already, but they're late, which -- say what you want about their inevitable futures pumping gas for Eventual Rich Bastard Kurt Hummel, but the dumbasses are oddly punctual.  
  
When he finally sees a familiar jersey through the glass doors, Kurt can't quite decide on whether he should be relieved, annoyed or scared.  
  
"You're...waiting?" Mike Chang asks.  
  
"I need as much time as possible to wipe off the stench of cigarette butts and rotting cafeteria food before first period."  
  
Mike shrugs. "Change of plans. We're studying for Spanish instead. Puck got Santana to help us out."  
  
"What --"  
  
"If we flunk, then we're off football _and_ glee. Dumpster trips were getting boring, anyway," Mike says. "No offense. Smell ya later, Hummel."  
  
Mike heads for the cafeteria, leaving Kurt by the dumpster. Kurt blinks down at his cashmere sweater. He runs his fingers over the rich material, shell-shocked at the idea of not having to bring an extra change of clothes to school anymore. Even if this is probably only a result of Puck wanting to avoid Kurt after the nothing that happened yesterday afternoon, it's still convenient, and Kurt will take his victories where he can get them.  
  
  
  
  
_"Jones residence, Mercedes speaking."_  
  
"Girl. You busy?"  
  
_"TMZ's on in 15 minutes, so you've got 15 minutes. Talk."_  
  
"What does it mean if a guy sits next to you and his leg starts shaking? Because I have this friend who kinda fooled around with this guy, but it was totally a mistake and they both just want to pretend it never happened, but then the next day in...chess club, all the seats were taken and the guy was forced to sit next to my friend and his leg was like. It wasn't insane, but it, you know. Shaking. A little."  
  
_"Oh, so you noticed Puck acting up, too?"_  
  
"Um. What?"  
  
_"When he sat between you and Brittany earlier. Yeah, there's definitely something up between them. I'm not surprised, Brittany's not smart enough to know not to give it up to Noah Puckerman. She's not even smart enough to know that Elle Woods was never an American president."_  
  
"Right. So what does it mean? Is he into her?"  
  
_"I don't think so? Puck has the attention span of a fruit fly when it comes to girls. But maybe it's something simpler, like, he just wants to do it again. You know how guys are."_  
  
"Unfortunately."  
  
_"Okay, show's on, gotta run. Mmmm, Max Hodges."_  
  
"Dax is cuter. ...Mercedes? Mercedes?"  
  
  
  
  
Kurt and Puck last three days, twenty-one hours, and eight minutes before nothing happens between them again.  
  
Nothing happens in the locker room showers. Twice.  
  
This time, Kurt chooses to blame Kurt II (because "Kurt, Jr." is too neanderthal a nickname for his dick -- Finn calls his a "dong," which would be annoying from anyone else, but coming from Finn it's oddly endearing). Kurt has standards, but Kurt II has needs. Kurt II is a go-getter. Kurt -- real Kurt -- also blames Puck's impressive upper body strength, because Kurt was walking to his locker in a towel, minding his own business, when he felt firm hands grip his waist and pull him into the shower, where he found himself pressed up against six feet of lean muscle and deep hazel eyes.  
  
And Kurt _went for it_ , because when faced with major life decisions Kurt always asks himself, "What would Patti LuPone do?" and in this particular situation, in the shower with a football stud looking at you like you're dinner, Patti LuPone would get her some and not feel an iota of remorse about it.  
  
Besides, Kurt II had already made up its mind, like, a week ago.  
  
Kurt's out of breath now. He leans against Puck as droplets patter down on them both. Puck holds him up by the small of his back because Kurt's legs feel like jelly. Because that's what happens after you come twice in a shower stall.  
  
"You're not my type," Kurt says.  
  
"You're not my type, either," Puck says.  
  
Kurt lifts his head to look up at him, careful to keep at eye level and avoid looking directly at that dumbass mohawk because good God, that mohawk is so _stupid_. It makes Kurt want to punch Puck in the face every time he sees it.  
  
"I think we should have a serious discussion about this," Kurt says. "...Oh, don't give me that look, Puck, I'm not a girl."  
  
"Right. Sorry." Puck makes a motion with his hand for Kurt to go on.  
  
"I don't mean talking about our feelings, or dumb crap like that. I just want to talk about _this_ , if there even is a this, because if this is going to keep happening, it...would be nice if I knew about it? So I could work out the logistics, at least."  
  
Puck's hand remains on Kurt's lower back. "I don't know. Do you want it to keep happening?"  
  
Kurt reaches behind Puck to turn the shower knob until the flow stops. "Do you?"  
  
The way Puck's eyes travel down Kurt's body right then is all the answer Kurt needs.  
  
"Okay then." It may not be a five-star hotel, champagne and a Broadway musical, but it's not the worst thing in the world. They're both guys and guys like sex, lots and lots of it, and Puck happens to be pretty amazing at that sort of thing.  
  
  
  
  
  
Two tables at the cheap-ass McKinley High cafeteria, about fifteen feet from each other.  
  
Kurt glares across at Puck and still can't believe he's having clumsy locker room sexcapades with this complete douchewaffle.  
  
Puck shoots daggers back, looking like he can't believe he's messing around with an extra from _Fiddler on the Roof._ (Not that Puck would be refined enough to make that sort of reference. He'd probably use more crude verbiage like "that fuckin' theater queen.")  
  
They look away immediately, neither wanting to be caught making any sort of eye contact with the other.  
  
They'll have enough time for that in the backseat of Kurt's car after school, anyway.  
  
  
  
  
"Do you...need a ride home?"  
  
"Seriously?" Puck stops in the middle of buttoning up Kurt's cardigan.  
  
Kurt glances down to where Puck's fingers are, and wonders if he should be alarmed that they've reached the point where Puck is helping dress Kurt up, even if this all takes place in the cramped backseat after half an hour of fooling around. Though if Kurt were being really honest with himself, he finds it kind of sweet, in some weird inexplicable way. It's...gentlemanly?  
  
"I figured it would be polite to offer," Kurt says.  
  
"Blowjobs for car rides. I see how it is."  
  
"You make for a very pretty fuel whore." He grins. "And there's no shame in that, especially given the state our economy is in right now..."  
  
"I'll walk, Hummel."  
  
Puck reaches for the door handle. Kurt covers Puck's hand with his own, tightly enough that Puck can't open the car door.  
  
"Suit yourself," Kurt says. Then he grabs Puck by the back of the head (that stupid, stupid mohawk) and crushes his lips against Puck's. Normally, kissing without any intent of it leading to something further (read: involving Kurt II) isn't part of their...whatever, but Kurt feels feisty this afternoon. He drags his teeth along Puck's lower lip, savoring the muffled groan it elicits.  
  
"...Okay, I guess a ride would be convenient," Puck breathes. "On one condition."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Can we go to your place instead?"  
  
  
  
  
Kurt can't stop giggling once they jump out of the car and race up the steps to his front door. It's the first time he's ever brought a boy home, and even if it's only Puck, he can totally settle for now. McKinley High doesn't have a fuck lot of options for him and Puck's honestly not that bad. Right now, Kurt is giddy as hell and he knows his dad won't be home for two more hours. Maybe if they're discreet enough, Puck can stay overnight and then sneak out the window afterward, just like in the movies.  
  
They make out a little at the top of the steps, then Puck's laughing, too, as if Kurt's amusement is contagious. When they go inside, Puck has his hands on both sides of Kurt's face and they're laughing even harder; Kurt can't tell if it's _at_ each other or _with_ each other, but he's fine either way.  
  
"Kurt?"  
  
Oh, dear God.  
  
They only barely break away from each other when Kurt's _dad_ enters the living room. Kurt bites down hard on his lips in an attempt to hide the fact that he'd just engaged in tonsil hockey with Noah Puckerman up until five seconds ago. Puck shoves his hands into his pockets.  
  
The thing is, Kurt can handle his dad when he's full-on angry. He can take the chastising and stern looks like a champ. It's when his dad is quiet that Kurt freaks the fuck out. Because when his dad doesn't say anything, Kurt has no idea what to think or how to deal. He keeps his cold hands wrapped tight on the strap of his messenger bag to keep them from shaking.  
  
His dad's eyes go from Kurt to Puck and back to Kurt. The silence is making Kurt dizzy.  
  
Finally, his dad turns to Puck. "Name?"  
  
"Noah Puckerman."  
  
"Chill, Dad, Puck's just here to help me with Spanish," Kurt protests.  
  
Kurt's dad ignores him, stepping closer to Puck. "Academic standing?"  
  
"Awesome."  
  
"Really?" Kurt and his dad ask at the same time.  
  
"Okay, no. Mostly Cs, and the occasional B-minus if I'm lucky."  
  
Kurt's dad pauses. He drags a hand down his face, lets out a sharp exhale. "Look. Just be careful not to hurt my son, okay?"  
  
"Don't be ridiculous, Dad, we're just studying --"  
  
"I'm not...great at this sort of thing, and I have a lot to learn," Kurt's dad continues. "But I don't want anything bad to happen to him, from you or any boy. Understand?"  
  
"I'll make sure he never gets hurt, Mr. Hummel," Puck says, although he looks right at Kurt when he says it. The whole thing is very nail-bitey.  
  
"You do know what you're doing here, Kurt?"  
  
" _Studying,_ Dad." But Kurt can't help but smile, because his father's uneasy, fumbling attempt at protectiveness is still protectiveness, and Kurt's thankful for that.  
  
His dad nods. "Right. Whatever you kids call it these days."  
  
  
  
  
They make it to Kurt's room after the longest, most awkward walk upstairs he's ever experienced. Puck immediately goes for Kurt's lips, but Kurt leans back, placing his hands on Puck's chest to keep him away.  
  
"Not while my dad's downstairs!"  
  
"Come on, he already thinks we're doing it."  
  
"It's just way too weird." Kurt shakes his head. "I told him we were studying, so." He reaches into his bag, pulls out a textbook, and shoves it at Puck. "I hear you're having problems with Spanish?"  
  
"All Greek to me," Puck mutters, shuffling through the pages.  
  
"Same continent, at least. Santana's not much help, then?"  
  
Puck grins. "Like I could focus on a book when I'm in the same room as Santana's tits."  
  
"You're gross." Kurt hangs his bag by the side of his dresser. He unbuttons his cardigan. "So you suddenly decided the day after our rehearsal room tryst that the whole team needed to study Spanish instead of throwing me in the dumpster? Because that's a fascinating coincidence. Terribly fascinating."  
  
"But if we kept picking on you, how would I get in your pants again?" Puck says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.  
  
Kurt turns around in time to see Puck's "duh" face and be completely annoyed by it. Still, he's amused to some extent, because while the traditional high school romance requires a lot of frills, trappings and fakery (ahem, Finn and Quinn), Puck's brand of straightforwardness is a refreshing change.  
  
"I suppose you wouldn't be able to study now, either, being this close to my unbearable hotness?" Kurt takes the book out of Puck's hand.  
  
"I'm not sure you realize how distractingly tight your pants are, Hummel."  
  
Kurt ducks his head, pretending to leaf through the textbook so Puck won't notice him blush. "Um. Oh hey, I have an idea!" He returns the book to his bag and pulls out his iPod. He sits down on his bed, scrolling through the videos. Kurt puts on one earbud and hands the other to Puck. "Here. It's a bootleg of this musical -- give it a _chance_ , Puck, jeez! Look, it even has rap in it. And lots of hot Latina chicks in skimpy outfits."  
  
"I'm listening." Puck sits down next to Kurt and leans in closer to the iPod in Kurt's hand, as the lights flood the stage onscreen.  
  
"It's called _In the Heights_. It's about the Latinos in Washington Heights, so a bit of it is in Spanish. The language isn't as heavily featured here as it is in the new _West Side Story_ revival, but I don't think you're much of a _West Side Story_ kind of guy. _In the Heights_ might not expand your vocabulary too much, but it could help you better appreciate the Spanish language, at least."  
  
Puck just says "Shhh" and squints at the small iPod screen.  
  
By the song "96,000" Puck's nodding his head along to the beat; towards the end of "Blackout" he puts an arm around Kurt's shoulder. Kurt flinches at first, but eventually settles into Puck's side.  
  
Puck's verdict, after curtain call: "Vanessa's really hot. And she can sing." Which is probably his way of saying he liked it. "Can I maybe borrow this for a couple of days?" Okay, he definitely liked it. Or he really wants to study.  
  
"Sure. I want collateral, though."  
  
Puck reaches into the pocket of his letterman jacket and pulls out his own iPod. "Not that you'd really care for my kind of music, but at least you know I'm not about to steal your iPod."  
  
"Fair enough."  
  
When they head downstairs, Kurt's dad is sound asleep in his chair, with an open newspaper in his lap. Kurt still decides not to kiss Puck goodnight, because that would be weird.  
  
  
  
  
Same cafeteria. Same distance. Same crowds.  
  
Kurt and Puck, however, have gone from I'll Pretend You Don't Exist in My Universe to making some weird game out of lunch period. It's like the eye-contact-only version of Gay Chicken.  
  
Puck's dark eyes are well-suited to the menacing look he often gives people, though right now he's set his phasers to "smoldering" and it's...kind of working. His lip curls up in one corner and in a second where nobody else is looking, he runs his tongue over his teeth.  
  
Kurt raises an eyebrow. He wraps a hand around the base of his slushie cup, bends down, and demonstrates that new thing he tried on Puck in the locker room yesterday, running his tongue up and down the straw in an achingly slow fashion as he keeps his eyes on Puck the whole time.  
  
Across the cafeteria, Puck nearly chokes on his sandwich. He coughs twice and almost knocks over his chair as he rushes to the bathroom.  
  
Kurt relishes the sweet citrus flavor, letting the crushed ice roll on his tongue. Victory is a dish best served with a big cup of orange slushie.  
  
  
  
  
"...So."  
  
"So."  
  
"This is awkward."  
  
Kurt nods.  
  
In their unintentional attempt to live every high school cliché imaginable, Kurt and Puck decide to try getting to third base with each other under the bleachers during Cheerios practice. This is quickly thwarted when Quinn shows up for her daily dose of self-torture and emo gazes at the squad.  
  
Santana and Brittany join her, and they have this horribly TMI conversation about morning sickness and contractions and horror stories about Brittany's female cousins. It's a very effective boner-killer.  
  
"Holy shit," Kurt breathes. "Remind me to never ever get knocked up."  
  
"...Good thing I have condoms?"  
  
He elbows Puck hard in the rib, causing Puck to bite back a yelp.  
  
They're huddled together on the grass because they have to sit that close to whisper, otherwise the girls might hear them. Puck rubs the sore spot where Kurt elbowed him, but he doesn't move away.  
  
Puck actually hasn't moved away even though they ran out of things to talk about, like, six minutes ago. And Kurt doesn't know why he's still here either, even though hearing about Quinn's pregnancy woes is the absolute worst thing in the world (next to _Avenue Q_ beating out _Wicked_ for the Tony Award for Best Musical back in 2004, because Kurt will never get over that).  
  
"I don't think I like being a closet case," Puck whispers.  
  
Kurt almost gets whiplash with how fast he turns his head to face Puck. "Who called you that?"  
  
"Nobody. But like, I want to make out with you under the bleachers without worrying about getting caught. And sometimes you'll walk down the hallway with your chin up and a bit of a swing in your hips, and it makes me wish I could tell people, 'Yeah, I'm hittin' that.'"  
  
"Really?"  
  
They're close enough to kiss. Or at least, Kurt's close enough to see how intensely hazel Puck's eyes are.  
  
Puck reaches up to brush away a strand of Kurt's hair with one finger. "Kurt, you're hot."  
  
Kurt tears his gaze away, willing himself to stare hard at the letter on Puck's jacket instead. "Thanks," he stammers, suddenly out of breath.  
  
"And I have to hide with you under the bleachers because high school is full of retards," Puck says.  
  
"All high schools are. Don't call yourself a 'closet case,' it's an awful thing to say about yourself. We're young, this is all new, we're not freaking Brokeback Mountain over here. You have the right to figure yourself out without having to let everybody else know what you're up to. If you're 25 and still shamefully hiding your homoerotic encounters, then we'll reevaluate."  
  
Puck nods. "Hey, Kurt?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I'm sorry I was a total jackass to you," he says. "The sad part is that it wasn't really about me hating gay people -- like, a hot body is a hot body, there's not much to think about. I was just uncreative with my insults. You know how, like, one guy says something and the rest of us follow? It's like that."  
  
"I see."  
  
"And to be honest, we only wanted to chuck you in the dumpster because all your clothes were really fucking expensive and it was pissing us off."  
  
Kurt smiles. "Well. I suppose Usher did have a point: I know I'm doing good 'cause they jealous."  
  
Puck looks impressed. "So you _have_ been listening to my iPod."  
  
"It's...educational. I've learned from the School of Usher that I don't want to get anyone pregnant, either, because it only ends in tears and hit singles." He stands up, holding out a hand to Puck. "Come on, we can watch the Cheerios practice. I'll even pretend to be hot for Brittany as an act of sympathy for you."  
  
He walks ahead of Puck so they don't look like they're together, but then Puck sprints forward to slap Kurt on the ass. It makes Kurt squeak and jump three feet into the air, which in turn makes Puck double over with laughter.  
  
  
  
  
The one song on Puck's iPod that Kurt has on instant repeat is by this 90's alterna-chick Liz Phair, who Kurt only knows about because there's this weirdo plaid-flannel-and-Doc-Martens girl who sits next to him in Math and has pictures of Liz Phair taped to the inside of her notebook. "She used to be so awesome," Flannel Girl would say. " _So_ awesome. Rest in peace, Liz Phair's awesomeness, you will not be forgotten."  
  
Liz Phair has the most heartfelt monotone Kurt's ever heard, and though it's been days since Kurt returned the iPod to Puck, he can still hear her drone, _"I want a boyfriend, I want a boyfriend, I want all that stupid old shit, like letters and sodas."_  
  
  
  
  
Right now, physically, the only thing binding them together is Finn Hudson, who has an arm around each of them as they all walk to glee practice. He has that idealistic, dumbass puppy smile on his face again. Which is fitting, what with Thanksgiving coming up. "I'm thankful for glee club, because it really is bringing this whole campus together," he says brightly. "Like, the football team is actually winning stuff thanks to Kurt, and you two are getting along now so I can hang out with all my friends from different clubs at the same time."  
  
Kurt glances up at him. He briefly wonders if his chances with Finn are dead in the water now that his virtue's been tarnished by Noah Puckerman. Would Finn be okay with dating a boy who's only half a virgin? Kurt's not _that_ impure, Puck just happens to bring out the skank in him. Puck probably has that effect on everybody, so at least Kurt has that excuse.  
  
Finn's sweetly clueless grin is a stark contrast to the clichéd smug asshole smirk that Puck's sporting now as he glances sideways at Kurt. "Yeah, Kurt's alright," Puck says. "He's got skills."  
  
Kurt grimaces and mouths "Whatever" at Puck. Puck makes a kissy face. Finn is entirely oblivious to the exchange, thank God.  
  
  
  
  
"Quinn Fabray, right?"  
  
Surprise and a hint of sadness flash on Puck's face in rapid-fire succession. "What?"  
  
"Mercedes told me. ...Don't freak out, I know everything she knows, but she keeps secrets well from anyone else." He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, to the beat of one of the _In the Heights_ songs playing on the car stereo.  
  
"I don't think I want to talk about this," Puck says.  
  
"Puck, you already know what I look like naked. I think I'm allowed to talk to you about the girl you keep staring at during glee practice."  
  
Puck absently toys with the seatbelt Kurt forced him to wear. "What do you wanna know?"  
  
"I want to know if you have a plan. I want to know what timeline you have in mind for yourself and Quinn, because while I'm fine with being your meantime boy, I'd like an idea of when I can start looking for a real boyfriend."  
  
"Anytime, really, don't let me stop you. I don't have a plan." He pauses. "What's a meantime boy?"  
  
"The one you're with in the meantime, while you're waiting for the person who really matters to you." Before Puck can say something apologetic, Kurt holds up a hand to stop him. "It's fine, Puck, we're each other's meantime boys and I don't mind. It's all good as long as we're honest about it. You're waiting for Quinn to run into your toned arms, I'm waiting for Finn to sweep me off my feet, but why waste time in between when we can be having fun?"  
  
"That makes sense, I guess." Puck's eyes dart around the car interior, obviously desperate for something to distract him. His eyes land on the framed picture hanging from the rearview mirror. "Who's that?"  
  
"Patti LuPone. Only the most amazing goddess to ever walk the face of the planet."  
  
It's a picture of Patti in _Master Class_ , as the legendary, fierce-as-all-hell maestra Maria Callas. She stands tall and proud, owns the stage like she always does.  
  
Would Patti LuPone ever allow herself to be anyone's meantime girl? Kurt imagines that she wouldn't, but he has the excuse of being teenaged and insecure and not nearly as fierce, and without a throng of fans throwing themselves at his feet, so maybe it's okay for him to be somebody's meantime boy for a little while.  
  
Patti would understand.  
  
  
  
  
  
Whoever is throwing rocks at Kurt's bedroom window right now clearly hasn't experienced the Bruce Banner side of Kurt Hummel: you wouldn't like him when he's angry. And he has good reason to be angry, because the noise woke him up from a very nice dream involving Patrick Dempsey.  
  
He tosses aside his sleeping mask, stomps over and hurls up the window with as much force as his inner Bruce Banner carries. "Oh, for the love of -- Puck? What are you doing here?"  
  
Kurt has to will himself not to be distracted by how hot Puck looks in jeans and a gray tank top, because this whole situation is ridiculous and he has to maintain a good "what the fuck are you doing" face. He shoves open the sliding door next to his window and heads out to the balcony.  
  
Puck locks his bike by a nearby tree. "Climbing up to your room," he says, walking toward the expanse of wall beneath the balcony.  
  
"Are you insane?" Kurt hisses.  
  
"Insane, not really. Horny, maybe. Kind of. Yes." Puck scales the wall with the ease of someone who's clearly done this before.  
  
Kurt holds out a hand to stop him from climbing over the balcony. "I'm not that easy. You have to earn it."  
  
"Earn it?"  
  
"Sing me something," Kurt says, resting his chin in his hands.  
  
Puck hooks his arms over the banister to gain some leverage. "I don't know what to sing," he pants. "This is stupid."  
  
"Just sing the first song that comes to mind when you think of me." Kurt smiles faux-sweetly down at Puck. "This is my chance at a _West Side Story_ moment, Puckerman, and you are _not_ taking it away from me."  
  
"Fine," Puck huffs. "'Stellar.' It's by Incubus, so I don't know if you'll like it."  
  
"It's cool," Kurt says while making a mental note to search Wikipedia to find out what an 'incubus' is.  
  
Puck clears his throat, and starts. And the thing is, outside of Finn's leading man shadow, Puck does have a compelling voice. It's more acoustic-dude subtle, but it cuts deep when you don't expect it to. _"Meet me in outer space. We could spend the night, watch the Earth come up. I've grown tired of that place. Won't you come with me? We could start again... How do you do it, make me feel like I do? How do you do it? It's better than I ever knew..."_  
  
Now Kurt really wants to know what an incubus is.  
  
He helps Puck up over the banister and lets Puck kiss him, even allows himself to melt into it a little as Puck runs roughened hands under Kurt's silk pajama shirt.  
  
Kurt pulls away, looking straight at Puck's chest. "How far are we going tonight?" It's hard to talk when his heart is tap-dancing on his throat.  
  
"How far will you let me?"  
  
Kurt blinks. It's not what he expected Puck to say, because when a guy engages in wall-climbing and impromptu moonlight serenades, he usually expects something major in return.  
  
Kurt's gaze falls to his bare feet. "Well. I have lube."  
  
If Puck's eyebrows shot any higher, they'd knock Mars out of orbit. "You have lube?"  
  
"Shut up," Kurt laughs, shoving him. "I just thought that if McKinley High was going to stay as locked at the knees as it was, I'd have to take the Justin Taylor approach to getting laid."  
  
"Who's Justin Taylor?" Puck asks.  
  
"Dumbass virgin from _Queer as Folk_ \-- oh, whatever, I just mean that I considered getting picked up at a gay bar."  
  
Puck places a hand on each of Kurt's shoulders. He leans close until Kurt has no choice but to look back at him. "Promise me you won't do that," Puck says. "It's not safe."  
  
"In case you haven't noticed, Puck, I don't have a lot of options in freaking Lima."  
  
"You have me. I'd do you." Puck grins. "I'd do you again and again."  
  
Kurt tiptoes to kiss him, resting his hands on Puck's chest. He kisses Puck because he doesn't want to have to think too much about whether Puck's declaration is romantic or retarded.  
  
He can't remember which one of them decides to get rid of Puck's tank top, but it ends up hanging over the edge of Kurt's chair. Puck hooks his hands behind Kurt's thighs to hoist him up without breaking the kiss. Kurt wraps his legs around Puck's waist and allows himself to be carried to the bed.  
  
Puck's mouth is hot on Kurt's neck as he unbuttons the pajama shirt, letting it slip like water off of Kurt's shoulders. Kurt keeps himself wrapped firmly around Puck, arching his back so their bare chests slide against each other.  
  
"Don't make me regret this," Kurt says quietly.  
  
Puck leans back to stare deep into his eyes. "I'll make it good for you."  
  
Kurt doesn't say anything; he only lifts his hips for Puck to pull off his pajama bottoms, too. Puck teases him with a quick kiss on his inner thigh.  
  
It's a little harder to breathe, now. "The bottle's in the third drawer. Under my scarves."  
  
After rummaging through it, he finds the bottle and tosses it on the bed, along with a condom from his wallet.  
  
"How many girls have you been with, since me?" Kurt asks, watching Puck unzip his own jeans. Kurt draws up a leg, still embarrassed to be naked and hard as a rock and spread out on the bed like this.  
  
"Uh. Is that important? I don't really want --"  
  
"I need to know I can trust you, Puck."  
  
"Okay. None." Puck sounds like he's ashamed to admit that. "I knew I had the option, I just didn't feel I needed it when you were there. You want my whole history, too?" he challenges. "Quinn was my first time. Santana and I fooled around, but it never got anywhere past second base because she likes being a tease way too much. I nailed a couple of bored housewives -- not at the same time, sadly. And I'm clean, Kurt, I promise. I'm not an idiot."  
  
Kurt kneels on the edge of the bed, rips the foil packet open and says, "Come here."  
  
He trails kisses along Puck's neck while he rolls the condom on him. Puck runs a hand through Kurt's hair.  
  
"You nervous?" Puck asks.  
  
Kurt presses his face against Puck's chest and lets out a shaky sigh.  
  
"That's okay. Just breathe."  
  
He does. Then they're kissing again, and Kurt finds himself back against the pillows. Puck feels warm and solid between his legs.  
  
Puck reaches for the lube. "This shouldn't be hard to figure out, right?"  
  
Kurt shrugs. "Can you use a lot of it? So it doesn't hurt."  
  
"Sure, yeah."  
  
There's only a brief moment of panic when Kurt's legs are hooked over Puck's shoulders and Puck pushes into him, but then it dissipates. It feels weird and too slick at first, but not bad. Then he pulls out and goes in again, and it starts getting good.  
  
"Holy shit," Puck says through clenched teeth. "You feel --"  
  
"Don't stop. Please don't stop."  
  
Puck thrusts faster, keeping one hand steady on the bed, and the other smoothing up behind Kurt's thigh. Kurt closes his eyes; it's _amazing_ being like this, with Puck all over him and inside him.  
  
"Yeah, like that," Kurt says. He digs his nails into Puck's shoulder blades.  
  
Puck presses parted lips into the hollow of Kurt's neck and sucks hard enough to leave a mark. The sensation makes Kurt hiss.  
  
Puck drives in deeper, deep enough to hit something inside Kurt that makes sparks flicker behind his eyelids. Kurt cries out and throws his head back, clawing into the sheets, unable to stop his release. He loses all control, and he still can't let go of Puck.  
  
And then he lies there, soft and motionless. It's like his entire body is jelly again, which usually happens after Puck makes him come. He opens his eyes and looks down, at Puck's muscles glistening with sweat, the way they ripple as he moves. The slight tremble in his arm. Puck grinds in two more times before he comes with a long, drawn out groan, and God, he looks so beautiful. Then he collapses on Kurt's chest, breathing heavily.  
  
Eventually, those hazel eyes meet Kurt's. "Holy fuckin' shit."  
  
"Exactly," Kurt says.  
  
It takes them a while to untangle from each other. Puck disappears into the bathroom for a minute, reemerging with a towel which he tosses to Kurt. He dives into bed, landing right beside Kurt.  
  
"So...when can we do that again?"  
  
Kurt thwacks him with the towel. "Ugh, you're such a _guy_."  
  
  
  
  
  
Kathie Lee Gifford's laughter is like the Satan version of nails on a chalkboard.  
  
It's not exactly what Kurt likes waking up to.  
  
He feels like he's opening his eyes to an entirely different universe, or the _Grey's Anatomy_ universe where "nobody knows where they might wake up" because everybody's a slutbag on that show.  
  
The first thing he sees is Puck in nothing but boxers, sitting Indian-style on the bed. Puck frowns at the TV. "See, Hoda's still kind of tolerable, but I just realized this morning that I can't fucking stand Kathie Lee. Did you know that if you scramble the letters in 'Kathie Lee Gifford' you get 'The Glorified Fake'?"  
  
"Turn that shit off," Kurt grumbles, snatching the remote from Puck's hands to shut off the TV. His face lands back into the mattress with a soft thump.  
  
"Someone's pissy."  
  
"I am so not a morning person," is Kurt's muffled reply.  
  
"You look cute with bedhead."  
  
"...Thank you." He reaches up to smooth away said bedhead. "Weren't you supposed to sneak out of my window, like, six hours ago?"  
  
"I fell asleep? You really wore me out last night."  
  
"Again, thank you. Now please exit quietly through the window, I think I'm late for school. Crap, did my dad notice anything?"  
  
A warm kiss brushes over Kurt's bare shoulder. "I think your dad left early. Also, you're not going to school."  
  
This makes Kurt sit bolt upright. "What?"  
  
"Don't tell me you've never played hooky before. What, is going to school the one thing you want to do the most right now? We can show up for fourth period if it makes you feel better."  
  
"You're a bad influence, Noah Puckerman."  
  
"You're a good influence, Kurt Hummel, and I need your guiding hand. Ahem. And shit, we've got a quiz in Spanish class later. Help me?"  
  
"Fine, but I'm only cutting class just this once," Kurt yawns. He runs two fingers over the sore spot on his neck where Puck bit him last night. "You ass, now I'm going to have to wear turtlenecks all week."  
  
Puck grins shamelessly. "But turtlenecks look good on you. Plus you have a metric fuckton of scarves, so whatever." He slaps Kurt on the back and jumps off the bed. "Come on, let's have breakfast. I'm starving."  
  
"What's for breakfast?"  
  
"I know this place a few blocks down where they make awesome ice cream sundaes."  
  
"Ice cream for breakfast? Puck, you're terrible," Kurt says, shaking his head.  
  
"It's part of my charm."  
  
  
  
  
"Again," Puck says.  
  
"Again?"  
  
"Come on, just one more time."  
  
"Puck..."  
  
"It's a major quiz. I wanna get this right."  
  
"Okay, but this is the last time. _Esquina,_ " he sings.  
  
"Corner," Puck sings back.  
  
" _Tienda_."  
  
"Store."  
  
" _Bombilla._ "  
  
"Lightbulb." Puck smiles.  
  
It's been the weirdest day ever, Kurt thinks. Singing _In the Heights_ lines to each other inside Kurt's car, after a day of ice cream for breakfast and Cheetos for lunch, and sitting on the sidewalk counting red cars and blue cars, and holding hands for half a minute before Kurt decided that it wasn't really appropriate and hello, awkward. And now Puck's _smiling_ at him. So weird.  
  
  
  
  


> _  
> **kurthummel:** Hey.  
>  **_puckyouhard_:** sup  
>  **kurthummel:** Do you have an mp3 of "Stellar"? It's kind of stuck in my head.  
>  **_puckyouhard_:** aight 1 sec  
>  _  
>  * _puckyouhard_ is sending you "Incubus - Stellar.mp3" *  
>  _  
> **kurthummel:** Thanks. Nice screen name, by the way. Very subtle.  
>  **_puckyouhard_:** cos yrs is so creative?  
>  **_puckyouhard_:** dude spice it up a little.  
>  **_puckyouhard_:** the_hummer69. xoxbackseat_hummelxox.  
>  **kurthummel:**...It's like you WANT to pimp me out in gay chatrooms._

  
  
  
  
Back to the cafeteria, back to the same tables, back to the same crowds.  
  
Kurt's staring blankly at whoever in the group is talking right now (probably Rachel, it's always Rachel), trying to avoid Puck's gaze because it might trigger memories of that night in Kurt's bedroom and he will either blush furiously or jizz in his pants or both, and he can't risk that happening.  
  
Only two minutes pass before he finally caves in and glances over. He catches Puck staring at him and smiles uneasily, because they're friends and everything's totally fine. Kurt waves. Puck waves back. They're okay.  
  
Puck crosses his eyes and makes a stupid face and Kurt laughs out loud and oh _crap_ this cannot be happening, Kurt is so not falling for the douchebag jock with the most obnoxious, fugly haircut in school.  
  
Kurt pretends like the inside of his slushie cup is the most interesting thing in the world, but what he actually wants to do is slushie himself in the face for being such a moron.  
  
  
  
  
Confirmation comes in the form of Rachel Berry.  
  
Rachel sits next to Kurt in glee practice like she sometimes does, and her right hand shakes a little because she has to practice the "No Air" duet with Finn now.  
  
She gets up hesitantly, but Kurt grabs her wrist and keeps her from moving too far from her chair.  
  
"One second. Rachel, look at me."  
  
Rachel sits back down and turns to him, with that familiar, cheery but desperate-for-your-approval look. Kurt reaches up to fix the unflattering side part in her hair; he brushes his fingers through her locks and fluffs the ends. He opens only the top button of her dress -- sufficiently chaste, but with the tiniest hint of playfulness.  
  
"Okay, now you can go."  
  
"Thank you, Kurt." Rachel smiles way too sincerely at him. It makes him feel guilty sometimes.  
  
She walks to the piano with a little spring in her step. She and Finn smile at each other in that nauseatingly Bambi way, and Kurt can't help smiling himself.  
  
In five seconds, Kurt realizes the significance of this moment. In seven seconds, Kurt has to grip the edges of his seat to prevent himself from banging his head repeatedly against the nearest wall.  
  
  
  
  
There's a note in Kurt's locker.  
  
Kurt has never gotten a note in his locker, barring that one time Tina was going through a _The Ring_ phase and she slipped notes that read "You will die in seven daaaaays" in everyone's lockers, genuinely believing it was funny. (It was not. Rachel had a panic attack, believing it was a threat from some equally ambitious freak who wanted to be the Tonya Harding to her Nancy Kerrigan. Rachel had an irrational fear of getting clubbed in the kneecap.)  
  
Today's note is on a small piece of yellow paper, and all it says is ":P". Which, Kurt supposes, is Puck's attempt at being cute.  
  
At the end of the day, Kurt slips a note in Puck's locker that reads ">:|".  
  
  
  
  
Of _course_ Quinn Fabray chose to sing "Lovefool" for today's "everybody does one solo song because _we're all stars here"_ (thanks a lot, Mr. Schuester) edition of glee practice. Of course.  
  
(Kurt will do ABBA's "Gimme Gimme Gimme A Man after Midnight," because he can rock it way harder than that dumb chick from _Mean Girls_ ever could. He could never surpass her massive boobs, though, he'll give her that.)  
  
Quinn smiles and twirls in just the right way to make her baby-doll top look super-dainty. She has everybody's attention; even Mr. Schuester, who has been rather irritable lately at having to sleep in a motel and, on occasion, at school, can't help but smile.  
  
If there's anyone in this school better at acting than Kurt is, it's Quinn Fabray, and she's at the top of her game here, playing the role of Finn's doting girlfriend, batting her eyes at him when she coos _"I don't care 'bout anything but you."_ Although the occasional flirty looks she casts Puck's way with every _"Love me, love me, say that you love me"_ aren't lost on Kurt.  
  
Quinn's just so fucking _pretty_ , that every time Kurt looks at her, "I'm Not That Girl" from _Wicked_ plays in his head. He hates that she's decided to take on the role of Girl with Problems as of late, because she's got the two most popular guys at school in the palm of her hand, while Kurt has to settle for being the consolation prize of the guy she doesn't even want.  
  
Puck settles in the empty seat next to Kurt. "Hey."  
  
Despite his best efforts, Kurt can't stop the verbal diarrhea that ensues. "Okay, I'm telling you this as the Token Gay Kid Giving You Advice, not the...other thing that I am to you, so, food for thought: I think she likes you, but she's still pretending that Finn is her baby daddy because that's how averse she is to the idea of you fathering her child. Fight for your kid, sure, but the girl? She's deceitful at worst, indecisive at best. Just my two cents."  
  
"Kurt? I just came here to ask you if I should go with 'Wicked Game' or 'With or Without You.'"  
  
"Oh," Kurt says. "I think 'Wicked Game' would make a bigger impression."  
  
"Really? I wouldn't have pegged you as a 'Wicked Game' kind of guy..."  
  
They get into a discussion of how Kurt thinks "Wicked Game" is haunting in a sexy way, and how Puck thinks "With or Without You" is haunting in a deep way. Meanwhile, Quinn's on the last chorus of her song, looking at nobody else but Puck now. But she's lost Puck's attention, and that's probably the first time that ever happened to her.  
  
  
  
  
Quinn's also good at regaining people's attention, though. The next day, she breaks up with Finn.  
  
Her official sound bite, according to McKinley High's self-appointed Gossip Girl, Jacob Ben Israel, is that "Finn's just not ready to be a father. He's still a boy, and I don't need a boy right now." Which makes sense, and the breakup was bound to happen anyway, but the timing is interesting.  
  
"What are you doing?" Kurt asks when he finds Puck waiting by his car.  
  
"The usual?"  
  
Kurt places his hands on his hips. "Didn't you hear that Quinn just broke up with Finn?"  
  
"Yeah, so?"  
  
"She probably wants to see you, if you know what I mean."  
  
"I already have plans," Puck says coolly.  
  
Kurt can feel his brows knot. "Who are we kidding, Puck? This thing, with us, it's not _designed_ to last. Why prolong the inevitable?" Kurt fumbles with his keys, trying to find the one for his car before belatedly realizing that he uses an automatic lock. The car unlocks with an obedient beep. "Go see Quinn. It's what you wanted."  
  
"Fine. If you say so."  
  
Kurt pretends to be distracted by something on his BlackBerry so he doesn't have to watch Puck walk away.  
  
  
  
  
Talking to Brittany is like hunting for truffles. You have to dig through a lot of crap, but every once in a while you find something that makes it worthwhile.  
  
Kurt's chosen her as his sounding board because he could bitch all day about this thick-skulled, jackassy football player with a ridiculous mohawk and hazel eyes and she would have absolutely no idea who he was talking about.  
  
He catches up with her in the hallway. "Brittany," he says, slinging an arm over her shoulder. "I need validation."  
  
"Oh, is that where you get a dude to park your car for you, at those fancy hotels?"  
  
"What? No," Kurt says. "Anyway. Casual relationships are a total waste of time, right?"  
  
"Boyfriends are nice."  
  
"No, I mean casual. Where it's just sex, nothing more."  
  
"Well, sex is nice, too," Brittany says. "It depends on what you want from each other. Because it's okay if you both get that it's nothing more than just the physical stuff, but you have to make sure it's, you know, fun for you both? It's hard if one of you has feelings, or if the guy's putting his hand up your skirt and you're pretending that he's a beautiful Latina cheerleader..."  
  
Kurt blinks. "What?"  
  
Brittany blinks. "What?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"What?"  
  
They slow down to a halt at the corner. "Brittany, did you just...?"  
  
"I think I have a migraine. I will go now," she says, walking off to the left.  
  
"Honey, the clinic is the other way."  
  
She turns around and walks in the proper direction.  
  
  
  
  
  
There's a text on Kurt's BlackBerry from Puck, urging Kurt to go over to his house.  
  
It's 10 in the evening.  
  
Against his better judgment, Kurt sneaks out his own window, looking Catwoman levels of stylish in a tight black shirt and pants. He always dresses for the occasion, always.  
  
As his car pulls up in front of Puck's house, Kurt can see that Puck's been waiting by the front porch the whole time. Kurt is barely five steps away from his car when Puck rushes over and kisses him desperately, like Kurt is his _air_ or something, but Kurt doesn't question it because God it's hot and he didn't realize how much he needed it until Puck gave it to him.  
  
Their clothes are all on the floor within the first fifteen seconds of locking themselves in Puck's bedroom. Puck pins Kurt down to the bed by his wrists, teasing the hell out of him with his mouth before taking him in deep. Kurt has to bite back a groan. He only struggles because he wants _more_.  
  
When it's over and they're boneless and blissed out, Kurt allows himself to be held this time. He settles in as Puck's arms come around him.  
  
"Mom says thanks for helping me not fail my Spanish quiz, by the way."  
  
"I've been sufficiently repaid in kind, I think," Kurt says, voice roughened from the sex. "So, what gives?"  
  
Puck trails kisses down the back of his neck. "I haven't touched you in two days."  
  
"Things didn't go well with Quinn?"  
  
"They did, actually," Puck says. "We had a nice talk. I figured out that I don't want her _enough_ , and she figured out that she doesn't need a boyfriend right now."  
  
"So you're back to square one, then?"  
  
"I kind of like square one. Oh, and I'm having a daughter."  
  
  
  
  
Except that it's not really square one, even if you don't count the daughter, because things changed once Kurt had the Rachel Berry Epiphany. And things changed for all of McKinley High when Quinn dumped Finn, because then Puck had the Quinn Fabray Epiphany and everyone knows he's going to be a dad now, and Finn walks around campus looking like he was just on the receiving end of a swift and powerful kick to the balls. Rachel's always by his side, relentless as she is. She knows she still has to wait, but Kurt knows Rachel, and he knows she can wait.  
  
Finn walks right into Kurt's embrace and cries a bit into Kurt's Armani. When Kurt says "I'm here for you," he means it. Everyone in glee club means it. Even Puck, whom Finn has decided to ignore.  
  
  
  
  
Cafeteria. Again.  
  
This time, Kurt and Puck aren't afraid to make eye contact. They attempt to have a conversation with their eyes, though 95% of the meaning gets lost in translation.  
  
Kurt's brow furrows as he studies Puck across the cafeteria. He can't quite put a finger on it, but he knows there's something fishy about the casualness of their arrangement if Puck just turned down Quinn Fabray for him. _Quinn Fabray,_ of all people. If Puck's waiting for something better to come along, Kurt has no idea what it is.  
  
Puck probably has no idea what it is either. He grins lasciviously at Kurt like square one is square one, period.  
  
  
  
  
The kisses are the most dangerous part, because that's when Kurt gets the cold, tingly sensation in his fingertips.  
  
Like tonight, as they lie naked and entangled in Puck's bed, sharing slow, indulgent kisses, as though Puck's forgotten that there should be boundaries that come with these things.  
  
Kurt seriously doesn't want to stop kissing him, but it's getting to be too much and he doesn't want to randomly burst into tears in front of Puck. "Um."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
What Kurt wants to say is, _Please don't kiss me like you mean it,_ but he can't because he'd sound like an idiot.  
  
  
  
  
There is a split-second in the middle of glee rehearsals for "Somebody to Love" where Kurt discovers the crack in their system.  
  
Kurt and Puck stand next to each other in the group, and from the corner of his eye, Kurt can see Puck's hand lift just a tiny bit sideways, like he wants to reach for Kurt's hand, but then it goes back down again. Kurt wavers between on-key and off-key for the rest of the song.  
  
He knows at this point that he has to do something, because Patti LuPone would 1) never go off-key, and 2) never hide her feelings. Kurt can't hide his, either.  
  
  
  
There's an interesting full-circle-ness to confronting Puck in the deserted rehearsal room, where it all began, with a high F.  
  
"I can't keep doing this," Kurt finally says. He sits cross-legged on the teacher's desk.  
  
Puck at least has the decency to look slightly hurt by this revelation. "You can't?"  
  
"When I say 'It's not you, it's me,' I really mean it, because I've figured out over time that you're not half the douchebag I thought you were, and you're actually a pretty great guy. But that's the problem. Because now, in addition to having a stupid boy penis, I have stupid boy _feelings_. They suck and they won't go away for a while. I can't stop them, but I can stop this, because it just doesn't work right once I start having, ugh, feelings."  
  
Feelings: the _other_ F word.  
  
"...Wait, what?"  
  
Kurt laughs, shaking his head. "It means I fell for you pretty hard, dumbass."  
  
He hops off the desk. He walks up to Puck, places a hand along his jaw and leans up to kiss him goodbye. He takes his time, because he knows this is the last one. Painfully enough, the kissing was Kurt's favorite part of it all, especially when Puck kissed like he meant it, like right now.  
  
"We can still be friends," Kurt insists. "Like, if you ever thought of me as a friend. And if you need more help with Spanish, I can lend you my bootleg of the _West Side Story_ revival. It isn't half as fun as _In the Heights_ , but it's a lot more educational."  
  
"I'd like that," Puck says. "And duh, you're a friend. If we weren't friends, I would have thrown your ass to the curb two months ago. It's the friend stuff that keeps it interesting."  
  
"Ironically." Tragically.  
  
  
  
  
Two pairs of legs, two pairs of shoes, dangling over the ledge of the bleachers. Kurt's stylish ones next to Rachel's sensible ones.  
  
Football cleats pound the field. Kurt and Rachel look on as Finn passes the ball to Mike Chang. Rachel rests her head on Kurt's shoulder.  
  
"I want a boyfriend," Kurt sighs. He hates that he can see his breath when he does, because that means that Christmas is in a couple of weeks, and he only wants one thing for Christmas. "I want a boyfriend. I want all that stupid old shit, like letters and sodas."  
  
Rachel perks up. "Ooh, is that from that old Liz Phair song? My other gay dad keeps his copy of _Exile in Guyville_ in a locked box in his closet."  
  
"...Rachel?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Why wait?"  
  
"Wait for what?"  
  
Kurt's eyes return to the field, where Finn is doing a white-boy celebratory dance after scoring the first touchdown of today's practice.  
  
"Oh, him." Her eyes sparkle when she smiles. "When waiting doesn't really feel like waiting, then you know it's worth it."  
  
Usually, Kurt finds Rachel's brand of over-eagerness depressing, but in this moment, she looks absolutely beautiful.  
  
  
  
  
Patti LuPone would _never_ mope.  
  
  
  
  
  
"What if people see us together?" Kurt whispers.  
  
"Well, fuck them," Puck says. "You and me against the world."  
  
"More like you against Spanish class."  
  
"Are you going to help me or not?"  
  
Kurt closes his locker. "Fine, but only because it amuses me that I got you so into a Broadway show. _Calor_."  
  
"Hot chicks and rap music," Puck retorts. "Heat."  
  
" _Anoche._ "  
  
"Last night."  
  
" _Dolor._ "  
  
"Pain."  
  
"...That's right. _Llameme_."  
  
"Call me."  
  
" _Azul._ "  
  
"Blue."  
  
" _Amame._ "  
  
"Love me."  
  
"I...think you know how the rest of this song goes," Kurt says.  
  
  
  
  
Kurt knows he's fucked the moment he sees two of the football guys, Mills and Del, waiting near the spot where he usually parks.  
  
He steps out of the car gingerly. "Boys?"  
  
They don't say a word. Not even an insulting one. One hooks his elbows under Kurt's armpits while the other hoists up his legs -- a depressingly familiar situation -- and they carry him to the dumpster, where the entire football team is waiting.  
  
Including: "Et tu, Puck?" Kurt whimpers. "I thought we were friends."  
  
"Like you said, that's the problem."  
  
Kurt wants to cry.  
  
"Put him down, boys," Puck says.  
  
Kurt's never been so stunned to be standing upright. "What is this? New ritual? Mindfuck the gay kid before you toss him in the dumpster?"  
  
"Haven't you noticed? Christmas is coming up. And at Christmas, you tell the truth, so, here." Puck sets his backpack down on the ground, fishes through it and pulls out a long black box tied with a periwinkle bow. He hands it to Kurt. "Merry whatever."  
  
It takes Kurt longer than it should for him to open it. His hands are shaking; all the football guys are staring at him and it feels eerily like the moment in _Carrie_ right before the bucket of pig's blood tips over.  
  
Inside the box is a watch. Brown leather strap, chrome face. Simple, but pretty.  
  
"I worked my ass off cleaning pools and skipping lunch and dealing uh, merchandise, and it was still the only thing I could afford at TAG Heuer," Puck says. "I know you're brand-conscious, I hope that one's okay."  
  
Kurt can't stop staring at it. "It's great, Puck. Thank you."  
  
"Turn it over."  
  
Engraved in intricate script on the back of the watch are the words _Te adoro_.  
  
"This wasn't in the musical," Kurt whispers.  
  
"I looked it up." Puck steps closer. "I thought a lot about everything you said, and, if you and I are the 'meantime,' I kind of want 'meantime' to mean 'always.' _Para siempre._ Because the sex is awesome."  
  
Kurt laughs and hides a blush.  
  
"And also, because it's you. So, what do you say?"  
  
After a moment of struggling to fasten on the watch, Kurt looks up at him. "I think I need help putting this on."  
  
Puck manages in four seconds what Kurt couldn't do in almost a minute. "Matches your shoes," he says, lacing his fingers with Kurt's.  
  
"It does. I'm impressed."  
  
Without letting go of Kurt's hand, Puck faces the rest of the football team. "So, newsflash, I'm banging Hummel. Anyone got a problem with that?"  
  
"Still slushie-ing you tomorrow, Puckerman," Mills says.  
  
"Dating a dude and still getting way more ass than you, Mills," Puck says. "Guess what? Kurt doesn't have 'that time of the month.'"  
  
"And I've discovered that I'm an 'any time, any place' kind of guy," Kurt adds helpfully. He has to stop himself from cracking up because for a split-second, Mills looked like he was seriously considering turning gay.  
  
  
  
  
"Can I?"  
  
"Puck," Kurt sighs.  
  
"Can I? Please?"  
  
They're walking to Math class together with Jacob Ben Israel trailing them with his ever-present tape recorder and a bulky camera around his neck. It's been like this all week. Kurt's taken to showing up to school in sunglasses because Jacob makes him feel like a total Kate Gosselin.  
  
"I just need one official statement for my blog, you guys!" Jacob whines. "Are you two an item? Is this like _High School Musical_ , where the athlete gets together with the innocent looking one with a squeaky high voice, who secretly has a wild side and has naked pictures of herself all over the internet? Kurt, do you have naked pictures of yourself all over the internet? Can I see them? Will Quinn's baby have three fathers? Kurt, does this mean you're gay now?"  
  
Kurt stops and turns to Puck. "Do it."  
  
  
  
  
After Puck secures the waistband of Jacob's Betty Boop briefs to the flagpole, Kurt draws up the pulley. He ties it around the base and joins Puck in saluting the most patriotic of wedgies that McKinley High has ever seen.  
  
"God bless America," Puck says.  
  
Kurt squints up at the flagpole. "And for the record, Jacob? Puck and I are friends. Really, really good friends. Sinfully good friends." He grabs fistsfuls of Puck's letterman jacket to pull Puck closer. "Dude. Dude? I love you."  
  
"I love you more, homie."  
  
They make out in the warmth of the morning sun, while Jacob impatiently taps his ankle against the flagpole. After a moment, he starts humming the Star-Spangled Banner to himself.  
  
  
  
  
Quinn's just so fucking _pretty_ , and Kurt can't begrudge her that, especially not right now. Like, he finally understands what people mean when they talk about the way a mother glows, because Quinn's glowing as she smiles down at the sleeping bundle in her arms.  
  
"You wanna hold her?"  
  
"I'll let Puck do it," Kurt says, backing away. "I'm not good with kids. Puke and Salvatore Ferragamo are not a winning combination."  
  
"You don't want kids?" Puck asks. He takes the baby from Quinn's outstretched arms.  
  
"I do, I'm just waiting until we have the proper technology to, like, meld sperm so that our super-baby can have our best attributes. My beauty and your brains."  
  
"My _brains_?"  
  
"Hey, you're a lot smarter than you think, Mr. I-aced-Spanish-finals," Kurt says.  
  
"You're, like, the only person to call me smart."  
  
"I think you're smart," Finn chimes in. He looks up, giving Puck that familiar lopsided smile. It's the first time they've talked since the big reveal before Christmas. "Baby Drizzle's gonna be so awesome."  
  
"Well, I know I'm smart enough not to name my kid Drizzle," Puck snickers. "You can come over, though. If you want. Teach her stuff."  
  
Finn nods. "That'd be cool. Quinn's looks, Kurt's style, your brains and my skills."  
  
"Yup. Your oh-so-hip Guitar Hero skills. And then when you leave, I can teach her some _real_ music."  
  
"Screw you, Air Supply is real music!"  
  
"Dude, you are not letting my daughter anywhere near that fruity 80's shit," Puck says.  
  
"Oh, I looove that you're calling my music fruity."  
  
"Air Supply: gayer than a dick in an ass."  
  
Finn hands the baby to a reluctant Kurt so he can show Puck his best I'll-kick-your-ass face. "Oh no you _didn't_."  
  
"Didn't what? State the obvious? Oh yes I did."  
  
As they barge out the hospital room door to start an impromptu contest of Who Noogies Who, Quinn just rolls her eyes. "Boys."  
  
Kurt looks down at the baby in his arms. She isn't half as scary as he expected her to be. Maybe even kind of cute.  
  
"You'll be a great mother, Quinn," he says.  
  
"You really think so?"  
  
He nods. "You don't need a man around to do everything for you, and you sure as hell don't need one to raise your own daughter."  
  
"Yeah, after talking to Puck, I realized that maybe I need to be alone for a while. Figure myself out. Grow up."  
  
"Not totally alone though, right? You do get that Puck and Finn will be noogie-ing each other for the rest of eternity just for a chance to change her diapers?"  
  
"I like it that way," Quinn says. "They're boys, but they're good boys."  
  
"Amen."  
  
Finn and Puck return, their hair much messier than when they left the room.  
  
"We're not naming her Drizzle, are we?"  
  
"What did you want to name her?" Kurt asks.  
  
Puck grins. "I was thinking of naming her Patti."  
  
Kurt grins back. Puck never fails to find new ways to surprise him.  
  
"I think it's up to Quinn, though," Puck adds.  
  
"I like Patti," she says.  
  
Kurt does a little shimmy. "A star is born!"  
  
Finn nods slowly, keeping his lips tightly pressed. Then he yells "DRIZZLE DRIZZLE DRIZZLE!" while making jazz hands at the baby. He bolts out of the room. Puck runs after him, shouting a long string of threats of bodily harm.  
  
Kurt and Quinn exchange knowing glances. "Boys."  
  
  
  
  
"Well, how do you say 'kiss me...'" Puck sings. He knows every word of _In the Heights_ by heart now.  
  
_"Besame."_  
  
"And how do you say 'hold me'?"  
  
_"Abrazame._ I do not understand you, Noah Puckerman."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Spanish finals were over a week ago. You don't have to study anymore."  
  
Puck scratches the back of his head. "To be honest, I just wanted an excuse to make you sing for me."  
  
"You duplicitous ass," Kurt says, nuzzling into Puck's side.

  
  
  
  
Back to the cafeteria. Same crowd.  
  
Only one table this time.  
  
Kurt and Puck hold hands underneath it.


End file.
